Well shit, I feel pretty fuckin good. Who knew that taking speed was the answer. Or whatever this is. Has to be methamphetamine with one atom tweaked off so they could get a patent. If this is what every upper middle class twelve year old fuckup in America feels like every day, they could do a lot worse. Sure, they will have to come down. Sure, you are hollowing out their brains while they’re still growing, probably making it so they feel a gnawing, jittery emptiness without an ever escalating dose of time released pharmaceutical speed. Sure they will be haunted by visions of people they love falling out of cars, their pets on fire, a constant drone that they’re unlovable and will never accomplish anything… sure it puts your soul to sleep by smothering it with the very tippy top part of your mind that feels nothing and exhorts you to meticulously clean your fish tank. But why mourn the bridegroom while he’s with us. This beats the fucking hell out of feeling anything. Normally this time of day is: holy fucking shit, I have had three months of no obligations, and I have done nothing. I have spent that time looking at fat asses on the internet rather than hang gliding into volcanic chasms. I have rawdogged people I would never speak to in public rather than seeking my soul mate. I have read Gawker instead of Dostoevsky. I have spent time on websites that discuss Kim Kardashian and not at the museum. God, what I would normally feel at 10:36am on a weekday– I am burning this precious gift of life on bullshit, doing worse than nothing. Now I feel like: maybe I should stand up and pace a lap around the kitchen again.
What I hope to accomplish by taking these drugs is a Philip K. Dick level of manic screed productivity. What I will probably actually accomplish is loosening my molars slightly by grinding them on top of each other like a manatee worrying a particularly tough piece of kelp. Words come out if I force my fingers to move but, ironically for a drug meant to treat ADHD, I keep getting distracted by the pixellation of the letters. The weird squiggle of red under a spelling error, how it looks like an old medieval tapestry depiction of a serpent. Maybe I should write a story about that serpent, I think. Is there some parable there.
Maybe I should write a story about something, but, none of the ideas I had cued up are engaging enough. They don’t move fast enough. I need something that’s gonna hold my attention. How do people take this shit and listen to lectures, read textbooks that are like watching paint dry, do schoolwork. Maybe I should masturbate. That always seems to be the answer with stimulants. Maybe I should build the artificial vagina of my dreams, now that I have a vibrating component, a fucksleeve component, a half full bottle of Curel® Intensive Care, an airline pillow that can be engineered into the shape of an ass with the aid of women’s undergarments helpfully left behind. Or maybe I should just tug it into the sink like always. I mean, maybe we should show some foresight here: imagine the moment, after you’ve ejaculated, and you look down and realize you now have to dismantle the creature you’ve built. Imagine the sad walk of shame to back to the bedroom to put the now lotion smeared panties back in a drawer. You are an adult male who went to a good college, for Christ’s sake, and this is what it’s come to. Imagine the moment of closing all your browser tabs. Why did I want to see a fat housewife impregnated by a gigantic African American man (referred to as a “bull”) while her husband watches and cries histrionically. Why are all the “scenario” porns acted with the subtlety of fucking Punch and Judy. I get it, making a movie is hard, but you’d think there would be at least ONE guy or girl out there filling the niche of “fetish porn where the distressed party isn’t waving around like one of those air puppets in front of the fucking used car lot.” Maybe that’s a career I could have. All I would have to do to stick with it is take this pharmaceutical speed every day.
Wait a minute: I am in a position to do something about this. El Chuco knows a porn star/ hooker who is pregnant, not yet showing. We could execute my dream of a cream pie porn that shows the pregnancy before and after. You’d think there’d be one out there but as the greatest porn searcher the world has ever seen I can tell you, there’s nothing good. Well, I will make a good one. I will make the 2001 of impregnation porn. A porn so brilliant it will have the greatest longevity of any adult film ever made, which is to say it will be viewed up to 6 times. Let’s call him. Let’s drive to the desert and and find this miscreant woman and shoot this Citizen Kane of pornos right now. Carpe diem. Or let’s pace around the kitchen again.